On the Other Side Read online

  Also by Carrie Hope Fletcher

  All I Know Now

  Copyright

  Published by Sphere

  ISBN: 978-0-7515-6315-3

  All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Carrie Hope Fletcher

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.

  The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

  Sphere

  Little, Brown Book Group

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  www.littlebrown.co.uk

  www.hachette.co.uk

  Contents

  Also by Carrie Hope Fletcher

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1 New Arrival

  2 The Second Floor

  3 The Wall

  4 The Lost Box

  The Violinist and the Artist

  5 Crossing the Wall

  The First Secret: The Black Bird

  Dinner

  The Second Date

  Sonny

  A Visitor

  6 August

  7 Horace

  The Second Secret: The Shoe Box

  Jim

  Eddie

  Dreaming

  The Shoebox

  8 Isla

  9 Magic

  10 Apartment 72

  11 The Greatest Artist Who Ever Lived

  12 The Final Journey

  The Third Secret: The Good Tree

  The Wedding

  A Surprise Awaits

  13 The Single Greatest Adventure

  14 Impossible Ideas Before Breakfast

  15 Hello, Goodbye

  16 At Long Last

  Acknowledgements

  This book is dedicated to those

  who constantly push forward, no

  matter what is in their way.

  And to my mum and dad,

  who taught me to push.

  1

  new arrival

  Steady lights flickered across her closed eyelids, and in her ears she could hear the rhythmic hum and rattle of a train on its tracks. Evie Snow opened her eyes, expecting to find herself on the 20.32, pulling into an unfamiliar station in an unexplored part of the city, having drifted off to sleep as she so often did when she was younger. Instead, when her eyelids fluttered open, like two twitterpated butterflies, she found herself in the lift of the building she’d lived in when she was twenty-seven years old. She glanced at the button board and saw that the number 7 was lit up, beaming at her. The doors slid open and the rickety lift gave a tiny shudder, wobbling Evie’s already unsteady stance, urging her to get out and keep going. She was sure she hadn’t been in this lift before she’d fallen asleep. She was sure she hadn’t been in this building for over fifty years.

  Evie’s gaze flickered up to the polished gold surface of the lift’s walls. She noticed someone else in the reflection, someone standing exceedingly close to her. She spun around to catch the woman she’d seen, but the lift was empty. She was alone. Looking back into the gold, she examined the only reflection it showed her. That of a woman in her twenties, blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders in an unruly fashion, curls that Evie had only seen as thin and grey for a long time. Chocolate eyes stared back in disbelief, full of life and vibrancy. Eyes that hadn’t yet forgotten how to shine. The skin on this woman’s face was smoother than her own; it hadn’t yet been weathered and worn from years of crying, laughing, frowning and smiling. Evie reached a hand up to her own face and felt the silky skin under her fingers. A quick, breathy laugh escaped her lips, like she’d been punched in the gut, forcing the memories of this face to the forefront of her mind. When she tilted her head, so did her mirror image, and when she smiled at the sudden realisation that this reflection was indeed her own, the beautiful twenty-seven-year-old Evie in the polished gold smiled back too.

  Evie finally stepped out of the lift and the heels of her favourite shoes clicked against the marble floor. She called them her ‘carpet bag shoes’ because of their resemblance to the carpet bag that held Mary Poppins’ impossible treasures. The hem of her floral dress swished around her knees, and suddenly the warmth of her cherished emerald-green coat sank into her bones and she was enveloped in a snugness she’d not felt for a very long time. She wiggled her fingers, realising that her left hand did not yet bear an engagement ring. A ring that had not only weighed down her hand with its extravagant, too-big emerald, but had weighed down her heart too with its significance. She held her hands in front of her, smiled at their emptiness, then swung them by her sides all the way down the corridor.

  As she turned a sharp corner that led to her apartment, she stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her neighbour, Colin Autumn, a man who’d always been kind to her, if somewhat introverted and quiet. She remembered him as a tall, well-built man. The Oxford professor type. He favoured tweed jackets with suede elbow patches and sweater vests, often orange or green in colour. The smell of his pipe had never been a pleasant aroma, but he had a sweet, rarely revealed smile, one that Evie had managed to coax out of him only a handful of times. He’d died suddenly of a heart attack while Evie had lived next door. It was a shock to see him here at all, let alone in such a state. Mr Autumn was now a shell of his former self, huddled on the floor by the door to his apartment, clutching his knees to his chest and rocking himself back and forth. His tweed jacket and sweater vest were gone, and instead he wore faded white-and-blue-striped pyjamas that seemed to swamp his frail, sunken frame. His skin was white and almost transparent. He was quivering, muttering something under his breath, and as Evie cautiously approached him, keeping her back to the opposite wall, she thought she heard him say, ‘Heavy. I’m too heavy!’

  Evie reached tentatively into her right-hand pocket, hoping she’d feel the familiar shape of her keys. Yes, there they were. Cold in her slightly clammy hand. She brought them out and jangled them happily, momentarily forgetting the sight of Mr Autumn in his hysterical state. She quickly slotted the key into the lock, but her heart sank into her carpet bag shoes when it did not turn.

  She tried again.

  No luck.

  And again, a little harder.

  Nothing.

  Now she desperately twisted her fingers against the key, but it just wouldn’t budge. Tears pricked her eyes. She stepped back and looked at the door. It was definitely hers. Apartment 72. The gold numbers shone brightly on the polished wooden door, taunting her now that she couldn’t get in. She looked at Colin, who had stopped rocking and was watching her.

  ‘Mr Autumn?’

  ‘Miss Snow? It’s been years.’ His voice crackled like an old record player.

  ‘Where are we?’ She crouched by his side. She wanted to embrace him, but he looked so weak and fragile she was afraid her arms may break him.

  ‘Where are we, you ask. We lived here for years. You know this place.’

  ‘Of course but … I can’t get in.’

  ‘Too heavy … you’re too heavy. Oh goodness, Evie, not you too. Too heavy. Too heavy.’ And with that, he returned to his rocking and muttering.

  Evie stood and stumbled back to her door. As she beat her fists against it, a few tears spilled over and ran down her rosy cheeks. She clenched her eyes shut, wishing with all her heart she knew what was going on.

  ‘Why can’t I get
in?’ she whimpered.

  Through her closed eyelids she saw yellow dots twinkling. She quickly opened her eyes to see her door sparkling with thousands of delicate little lights, dancing about the wood. They moved smoothly into formation, creating words for her to read.

  Your soul is too heavy to pass through this door.

  Leave the weight of the world in the world from before.

  Once it is lighter your key shall then turn,

  And you will be able to have what you yearn.

  ‘My soul is too heavy? What does that mean?’ She took off her coat, now feeling hot and flushed.

  ‘Taking off your coat won’t help you get any lighter, little Evie.’

  A short man stood at the end of the corridor. Mr Autumn had gone quiet, and Evie could see that he was now sucking his thumb, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that they’d turned into mere lines. The man who had spoken was in his mid-forties but looked far older. A cigarette was hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he talked like it wasn’t there at all.

  ‘Dr Lieffe.’ Evie let out a sigh of relief when she saw him. He was a plump, slightly balding Dutchman, with the sweetest button nose, who had been the apartment building’s doorman. Warmth radiated off him in inexhaustible waves, as it always had done when Evie had lived here. Dr Lieffe knew the name of everyone in the building, and all their business too. Not because he pried, but because you couldn’t help but trust him. He made sure everyone got their letters and packages, and at Christmas time he snuck bags of chocolate coins in with their post. He also thought of himself as a bit of a matchmaker, and was always trying to pair off the single apartment dwellers. On one occasion, long before Evie moved to the building, he’d succeeded, and had been honoured to be an usher at the wedding of Danny Thorn and Rose Green. From then on he referred to himself as Dr Lieffe, lieffe being the Dutch word for love. Eventually it caught on, until no one in the building remembered his real name.

  Evie was one of his favourite tenants because she took him cups of hot chocolate when it got cold, and chilled pink lemonade in the summer when his little desk fan just wouldn’t do. He’d passed away soon after she had moved out of Apartment 72, and she’d attended his funeral, along with most of the people who’d lived there past and present. The apartment building had been his favourite place in the world.

  ‘I can’t begin to tell you how pleased I am to see you!’ Evie ran to Dr Lieffe and he gave a throaty laugh as he embraced her, a little awkwardly, as she was a good foot taller than he was.

  ‘I wish I could say the same. I do hope it wasn’t painful. Did you go in your sleep?’ His English was impeccable. If not for the very slight accent and the pride he had in his country, Evie wouldn’t have known he was Dutch. He took the cigarette from his lips and stubbed it out in a wall-mounted ashtray in the corridor. He never usually smoked inside the building, but strangely, Evie couldn’t smell the smoke at all.

  She frowned. ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

  ‘Oh Evie.’ He gave her an affectionate smile, tinged with sadness. ‘This is the afterlife. Well, it’s the afterlife’s waiting room, at least.’ He reached out to her and they linked arms as he started to lead her back to the lift.

  ‘The afterlife’s waiting room,’ she repeated, trying to make sense of it all. She felt like she’d fallen down the rabbit hole, except it hadn’t led her to a fantastical world where animals could talk and tell the time. Instead she was in a world that belonged in the past, where people long dead were alive once more.

  ‘You see, when you die, provided you’ve lived a good life on earth, always trying to be the best version of yourself that you can be, you go to your favourite place,’ Dr Lieffe explained.

  ‘Heaven?’ Evie asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

  ‘Ah, yes, but your own personal heaven. You’ve passed on, Evie. I’m afraid you’re dead.’ He squeezed her hand.

  Of course, she thought.

  ‘Yes, I … I think I remember. Now that you mention it.’ She concentrated hard, squeezing the memories out of her head. ‘I lived a good long life. I married. Had two children. I was …’ she paused, ‘happy. And I died with my children and grandchildren at my bedside. Yes, I remember now.’ Her lips turned up at the corners and she lost herself in her mind’s eye, recalling images of her children all grown up. Then she shook her head slightly and brought herself back to Dr Lieffe, who was standing before her, ushering her into the lift.

  Evie looked at herself in the polished gold, and saw that she still looked twenty-seven. It’s not that Evie was vain, but when she’d been so fond of her own assets, like her caramel curls and her chocolate eyes, it had been hard to watch them fade into shades of grey, along with all the life and excitement she had once felt.

  ‘Clearly you were at your happiest here, in this very building. As was I. So when we passed on, we came back here.’ Dr Lieffe pressed button number 2, but it didn’t light up. ‘Damned thing.’ He pressed it again with a little more force, and the yellow light shone dimly through the small frosted number. ‘However …’ He paused, still looking at the button, a troubled expression on his face.

  ‘Ah, there’s always a catch. You may have three wishes, but you can never wish for more wishes.’ Evie chuckled lightly, but the look on Lieffe’s face gave her the feeling that it might not be as easy as she’d like.

  ‘It’s only a small catch, Miss Snow. You couldn’t open your door, could you?’ Evie shook her head. ‘That’s because you’re holding on to possessions that aren’t allowed to pass through with you.’

  ‘Possessions? But I didn’t bring anything with me. I found myself in these clothes when I arrived here, wearing these shoes, with my keys in my coat pocket.’ She felt again for the keys, and when her fingers wrapped around them, she pressed them into her palm as hard as she could, forcing herself to believe that they were there and she was here and everything was all right.

  ‘Not all possessions are material, my dear girl.’ The lift gave a sudden jolt and started to shudder its way down the shaft. Dr Lieffe hit the wall with a clenched, white-knuckled fist – suddenly disproportionately angry with the situation. Evie gave his arm a gentle pat. At last the doors opened, slowly, as though they didn’t want to reveal what lay beyond them.

  ‘Evie,’ Dr Lieffe took a deep, unsteady breath, ‘this is the second floor.’

  ‘Yes …’ She waited for him to continue but he said nothing, nor did he move to exit the lift. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve not been down here in a long while. I try to avoid it as much as possible, but you must see what’s down here.’ He took a step towards the door, holding tightly to her arm. ‘Our souls are very delicate, and there are certain things that can weigh them down. When we feel guilty, hold in feelings, bite our tongues, keep secrets – that puts a great burden on our fragile souls. These man-made weights attach themselves to our spirits and start to drag us under.’ Dr Lieffe hadn’t looked at Evie once since they’d arrived on the second floor. His gaze was concentrated firmly up ahead, at the approaching turn in the hallway, his steps slowing. Blue-tinged lights flickered over their heads, and electricity buzzed.

  ‘To be able to pass on, to step through your door, you must rid yourself of those weights. Let your feelings be known, open your heart, forgive people. Whatever those burdens are, you need to let them go. Otherwise, there’s no way through the door and you’ll become stuck.’

  As they moved further down the corridor, the sound of groaning became audible. Not just one voice, but several, in a strange and aching chorus.

  ‘Dr Lieffe … why are we on the second floor?’ Evie was now clutching his sweaty hand, their fingers interlinked as they edged towards the haunting voices.

  He sucked in a breath. ‘This is the floor on which the more … reluctant residents of this building reside.’

  They turned the corner, and Evie gasped.

  2

  the second floor

  ‘What are
they doing?’ Evie stopped, and pulled at Dr Lieffe as he tried to continue forward. ‘Why aren’t they inside their apartments?’

  If she’d known these people once, she didn’t recognise them now. Their faces were grey and gaunt, their skin transparent. They were all dressed in the casual clothes they’d usually wear for lounging around their apartments. Pyjamas, dressing gowns and gym gear that had probably never seen a day of exercise. Everything in shades of black, white and grey. Around them were puddles of colour – blues, reds, pinks, oranges, greens – that had melted from their bodies and garments and were now soaking into the carpet and smudged on the wallpaper.

  ‘What’s wrong with them? They’ve lost all their … colour,’ Evie whispered.

  ‘They’re stuck, my dear girl,’ Dr Lieffe explained. ‘They refuse to let go of what it is that’s keeping them here. They’ve been here so long, they’ve become shells of who they were. They’ve got no life, no colour left in them. It’s all just … melted away.’

  One man was leaning up against his door, scratching pathetically at the wood. The door remained glossy and unscathed, but his fingers were bruised and bleeding stumps, his blood jet black. A woman was muttering, speaking rapidly, some words louder than others. She was cradled against her door, banging her head on the frame. Another woman was trying to catch imaginary phantoms in the air around her. As Evie watched her flailing about, the woman hit herself on the nose, which made her yelp. Judging by the stream of black running down her face, it wasn’t the first time she’d done it. There was a large patch of dried blood on her white tank top, and her hands were covered in black stains. Evie could see the liquid caked under her fingernails as she swiped her hands through the air.

  The constant cacophony was too much. The sounds came in waves and started to make Evie feel queasy.

  ‘I’ve seen enough,’ she whispered. ‘I want to go back to my apartment.’ She tried to turn, but Dr Lieffe pulled at her arm, not letting her go.